


Yo Helga!

by partypaprika



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” Phoebe said, stopping suddenly. “I may have forgotten to tell you that Arnold moved back,” she continued, but Helga couldn’t breathe because in the corner was someone she recognized intimately, someone who’s face had once been imprinted upon Helga’s soul, someone she would have recognized even in a city-wide blackout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yo Helga!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diaphenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/gifts).



> For Diaphenia--I had a lot of fun coming up with Arnold and Helga's happy ending. I hope that you enjoy!

Helga stopped outside of Phoebe and Gerald’s walk-up and took a moment to catch her breath.

“Alright,” she said to herself. “Engagement gift, check. Appropriately nice dress,” Helga looked down at herself. She was wearing a pink dress with white polka-dots and a pair of flats. It seemed appropriately nice. “Check. You will be nice, check.”

Although Helga had mellowed out over the years, she had to admit that being in stressful situations tended to bring out the worst in her. Thankfully she no longer took her stress out physically on people, but Phoebe had requested a minimum of emotional trauma on unsuspecting guests tonight. Helga figured that she owed it to Phoebe to do her best to live up to that.

Besides, what was the worst that could happen? It was an engagement party—there would be Phoebe and Gerald’s parents, their friends and maybe a few coworkers. Nothing that Helga couldn’t handle. Taking a deep breath, Helga buzzed the door and the building door unlocked a moment later.

 

“Helga!” Phoebe said excitedly from the front door when Helga got up to the third floor. “You’re here!” Phoebe pulled Helga inside and gave her a hug. “Thank you so much for the gift. Gerald, Helga’s here!”

Gerald detached himself from a group of people just past the entry way and came over to the front door. “Helga,” Gerald said happily. “I’m so happy you made it.” He pulled Helga into a big hug while Helga forced herself not to squirm awkwardly as she always did when people tried to hug her.

“How’s the writing going?” Gerald asked.

Helga shrugged. “Good. I have a deadline coming up and my editor is being a moron, but it is what it is. How’s the show?” Gerald had a radio show that aired at night on Monday through Friday on one of the local radio stations as well as produced a nationally broadcast weekly show on American urban legends that was distributed through NPR.

Phoebe had gone in a different direction, deciding to go into biochemistry and was now a top professor at NYU. Helga, on the other hand, had ended up becoming a writer after she sold a poetry collection and a series of essays in college. It wasn’t much of a living, but it was enough to get by. Most days.

 

“Come on in and say hi to everyone,” Gerald said as he took the gift from Helga and added it to the pile of other engagement gifts. Phoebe started leading Helga to the living room, passing both Phoebe’s parents and Gerald’s. She waved to them and they waved back.

“Who’s here?” Helga asked Phoebe.

“A few people from work, other friends from the city and of course the old crew,” Phoebe said. “Hey everyone, Helga’s here,” Phoebe said to a group of people in front of her.

The group turned around, revealing a few friends that Helga remembered as going to college at Yale with Phoebe or from attending Wesleyan with Gerald.

“Oh,” Phoebe said, stopping suddenly. “I may have forgotten to tell you that Arnold moved back,” she continued, but Helga couldn’t breathe because in the corner was someone she recognized intimately, someone who’s face had once been imprinted upon Helga’s soul, someone she would have recognized even in a city-wide blackout.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Helga found herself cataloguing Arnold’s face, tracing the differences and similarities. It had been over a decade since they had last seen each other at their high school graduation. Helga going off to Brown, Arnold heading west to Berkeley.

Arnold had grown a bit since then, filling out in height and muscle. He looked good. Well, he had always looked good. He had always had a confidence and ease in his body and himself that had driven Helga crazy. In every sense of the world.

In middle school and high school, Helga had had countless sleepless nights thinking about Arnold and trying to think of ways to make Arnold like her. But Helga had promised herself that she would move on when she went to Brown. She’d dated at Brown, nothing serious, or rather, nothing that compared to her feelings for Arnold. But when Arnold had stayed out in California after college, Helga had told herself that her feelings were just an idealization of first love and allowed herself to think that she had gotten over him.

Clearly that had been a lie.

Arnold turned minutely and Helga saw the moment that Arnold recognized her. He looked at her, his gaze assessing. As always, Arnold’s face was frank and open, but he also looked intrigued as if he was maybe also cataloguing Helga, seeing her changes.

Without warning, Helga’s heart started beating rapidly, her palms sweating, and she was certain that everyone at the party knew what she was thinking. Helga reminded herself that she had been through over a decade of therapy—thousands of hours of talking it out—and could cope with her emotions. She was a strong, emotional woman and could handle that. She could handle this.

Time snapped back into place when someone bumped into Helga. “Hey! Watch where you’re walking,” Helga said and then immediately winced internally.

The man took a step back, a look of shock on his face. “Uh, right. Sorry,” the man said, apologizing. Across the circle, Arnold looked disappointed. Great. A decade of therapy down the drain and Helga was still right back in fourth grade.

 

 

After apologizing to Phoebe, Helga strategically retreated to the group of people near the drinks. Eventually, after a few beers and some recovered dignity, Helga found herself sitting down on the couch and catching up with Phoebe’s old roommate, Michelle and her husband, Doug. When they got up to grab some more drinks, Helga felt someone drop into the seat next to her. Helga looked over to see that it was Arnold and immediately tensed up, forcing herself to sit calmly even though all she wanted to do was turn around and leave the room.

“Helga,” Arnold said easily. “It’s great to see you. It’s been forever.”

“Yeah,” Helga said, praying for a merciful death such as a volcano erupting in the apartment or Godzilla attacking the city. When none of that appeared to be forthcoming, she turned and faced Arnold. “It has been a long time.”

 

 

Helga wasn’t sure if Phoebe had directed Arnold her way or if Arnold had decided to come say hi of his own volition. Either way, Arnold appeared to actually want to talk to Helga. He asked about what she was doing these days (starving poet and writer) and where she lived (Williamsburg). In return, she found out that Arnold had just moved back to Hoboken where he was working as a contractor. He also spent his time volunteering with the Big Brothers and Sisters program. Figured.

“How are your grandparents?” Helga asked.

“My grandmother passed away a few years ago,” Arnold said. “It’s been hard for me and my grandfather, but we’re doing alright.”

“Uh,” Helga said, trying to think of how to express her condolences. That was what one normally did, right? Apparently she’d also forgotten how to act like a normal human being. “I’m sorry?”

Arnold looked at Helga seriously. “Thank you, Helga,” he said. “How’s your family?”

Helga gave a little shrug. Family was a sore spot and Helga was never really sure where to begin with them. But Arnold didn’t show any signs of dashing off, so Helga took a deep breath. “I don’t really talk to Big Bob or Miriam these days,” Helga said. “But Olga is doing well. She still lives up in Alaska with her husband. She comes into New York once a year or so.”

“Wow,” Arnold said. “That must be hard for you.”

Helga’s instinctive reaction was to brush it off and retort with something withering, maybe about Arnold’s own lack of family, but she kept quiet and tried to let the urge pass. Eventually she managed a brief “I guess.” And then Arnold thankfully changed the subject.

 

 

As they talked, the butterflies in Helga’s stomach intensified, faint nervous beatings against her rib cage. “Yeah, my last published piece was on Wrestlemania,” Helga said. “It was pretty awesome—I got paid to go watch wrestling.”

Arnold smiled, his face crinkling up. “Yeah, I remember that you were always really into that,” he said.

Helga bristled. “Hey, Wreslemania is fantastic,” she said. “Triumph of the human spirit, stripping people down to their essence, all that good stuff.”

Arnold started laughing. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “Just that it was something that you were always passionate about. I think it’s great that you like it.”

“Oh,” Helga said, feeling herself redden. “Right.

 

 

When the party wrapped up, Helga and Arnold were still talking and Helga belatedly realized that she should probably go and help with the clean-up.

“I should—“ Helga said, pushing herself up awkwardly. Sometime in the last hour or so, she and Arnold had migrated closer on the couch and—well, Helga felt herself blushing all over again.

“Oh, yeah,” Arnold said, looking around. “I should help too. It was really nice talking with you, Helga,” he said, and then gently touched Helga on the shoulder before turning around.

Helga went through the rest of the evening in a daze, helping put things into trash bags and dirty plates in the sink before Phoebe and Gerald shooed the last of the scragglers out of the apartment.

 

 

“But did he mean anything by it?” Helga asked herself for the millionth time on the way home. “Was it the touch of a casual acquaintance or a fleeting caress that belies the pain and suffering of true love. Dare my heart hope that his heart echoes my long-held sentiments?”

A pigeon squawked and flew up in front of Helga, scaring the crap out of her. “Criminy,” Helga yelled into the night. “God damn it.”

Helga sighed. Maybe avoidance was the best solution.

 

 

“So,” Phoebe said a few weeks later when she and Helga met for their weekly lunch. “I think that Gerald and I would like to do a joint bachelor/bachelorette party.”

“Sure,” Helga said. “Sounds like a party. Well, as your maid of honor, I can guarantee it will be the most kick-ass joint bachelor/bachelorette party out there.”

Phoebe watched Helga for a few seconds, as if she was waiting for Helga to put the pieces together. “Of course,” Phoebe said. “As one of Gerald’s oldest friends, Arnold would probably be there since he’s now moved back to New York.”

“Hoboken is not New York,” Helga said automatically, her mind racing. Although Phoebe hadn’t said anything after the engagement party, of course she had seen them. And if anyone knew about Helga’s long-held crush on Arnold, it was Phoebe.

Phoebe was still staring at her. “Oh, right,” Helga said, faintly, trying to go for reassuring. “What do I care if old football head is there?”

Phoebe smiled for a second before biting her lips. “Of course,” Phoebe said, looking down at her drink.

 

 

 

Jamie, Gerald’s brother and best man, and Helga had organized the joint festivities together, allowing selective input from the bride and groom-to-be. They’d planned for the women and men to do separate activities during the day, meeting up for the evening portion.

So, the girls had gone ahead with a spa day (featuring liberal amounts of champagne) and the guys had gone out golfing (featuring liberal amounts of beer). Everyone had been a little tipsy by the time that dinner rolled around. Things had only degenerated during dinner and so everyone had already been trashed by the time that the large group made it up to the hotel suite that Helga and Jaime had rented out for group where the guest exotic dancers would be joining the party later.

Jamie started up some music and, pretty soon, everyone was dancing with intermittent breaks for mandatory shots for the bride and groom-to-be. When the strippers finally showed up, Helga took that as her cue to flop down on one of the suite’s couches.

“Hey, can I sit here?” A voice asked. Helga didn’t even have to open her eyes to know who was talking—as if she hadn’t been tracking him all night, his presence always at the periphery of her vision.

Helga cracked open an eye. A blurred double of Arnold appeared before merging into one. Helga pushed herself up into a half-sitting position. “Sure,” Helga said, charitably. “Why not?”

Arnold smiled at Helga and tried to sit down, tipping over halfway through the process and falling against the cushions. Helga giggled, helplessly.

“Well, I’m glad that was enjoyable for someone,” Arnold said, but he was smiling as he turned himself around.

Helga smiled back and they ended up staring at each other for a few minutes before Arnold cleared his throat. “So, good party, Pataki,” he said.

Helga gave him her best unimpressed look. “Of course it is, football head,” she said. “I only throw first-rate parties.” Helga’s brain caught up with her. “Oops,” she said. “Sorry about the football head thing.”

“Nah,” Arnold said. “It never really bothered me—especially once I figured out that it was just your nickname for me.”

They lapsed into silence again.

“Hey,” Helga said, suddenly serious. “When we were kids, did you—when I was—” Helga tried to find the right words to say. “God, I was screwed up,” Helga said, eventually. “But that didn’t mean that what I did was ok. Especially to you.”

Arnold shrugged, his shoulder bumping up against Helga’s and staying there.

“I don’t want to say that you were a saint or anything,” Arnold said. “Because you definitely weren’t. But I don’t know if you were as bad as you think you were. You had your moments, sure, but you got better.”

“Yeah?” Helga said, turning to face Arnold.

“Yeah,” Arnold whispered back and then they were kissing, Arnold’s arm coming up to pull Helga in.

 

 

When Helga woke up the next morning, a blistering headache courtesy of the six mojitos she had the night before, her face was smushed up against the couch. It took her a moment to realize that Arnold was pressed up against her side, one arm draped lazily over her. There was a moment of complete confusion where Helga’s brain blearily tried to pierce things together. And then suddenly, it hit her: the party, the drinking, the making out, Arnold. The making out with Arnold.

There was a moment of pure elation—she had kissed Arnold and it had been as amazing, no, more amazing than she could have ever dreamed. It had made her heart sing, like getting to watch the perfect fireworks show or the first day of spring. It had felt like arriving at home after a long day outside in the cold.

But then reality set in—this was like every girl fantasy movie ever. There was no way that this was going to work out. First of all, Arnold had been drunk. Really drunk. What if he hadn’t meant it? What if he was pity kissing her?

He had to have known about Helga’s planet-sized crush on him. Helga’s life was totally over. There was no way she could go back to the normalcy of living after knowing what it had been like to actually think for one moment that Arnold had actually liked her.

Helga could feel herself hyperventilating, so she very carefully extricated herself from Arnold’s arm and slid of the couch. She made a slight noise as she hit the ground and then froze, but no one else seemed to wake up.

After a second, Helga slowly stood up and surveyed the room. There was Arnold on the couch, Jaime asleep on one of the other couches. At least three people were cocooned under a series of blankets in the middle of the room. It looked like Jake, Brighton and Victor based on the top of their heads. Through one of the bedroom doors, Helga could see Phoebe and Gerald sacked out on the bed, their clothes still fully on. And through the other bedroom doors, what looked like the remaining bridesmaids crammed together onto the bed. Impressive.

And then Helga bolted.

 

 

Helga spent most of the day alternating because ephemeral highs at having kissed Arnold and depressed lows of it never happening again. When she finally couldn’t take it anymore and figured that she had given Phoebe more than enough time to shake off the hangover, Helga called Phoebe.

“Phoebe,” Helga said as soon as the phone picked up.

“Helga?” Phoebe said after a brief pause. She sounded a little shaky and Helga winced in sympathy.

“Yep, it’s me,” Helga said, making an effort to keep her voice low. “So, how are you feeling?”

There was a silence that spoke for itself. “Right,” Helga said. “Uh, so I just wanted to say.” Helga steeled herself. “I made-out with Arnold last night,” Helga squeaked out.

There was another silence. “I know,” Phoebe said after a second. It sounded as if she was speaking to a young child. “As did most people at the party since you made-out in front of everyone.”

“Oh god,” Helga said, feeling awash in fresh horror.

Phoebe laughed, or half laughed anyways. “Definitely everyone saw.”

“Oh god,” Helga repeated.

“But you should feel worse about sneaking out this morning,” Phoebe said, although now her voice was kinder. “Arnold looked pretty upset that you weren’t there.”

“He did?” Helga said. “

“Yeah,” Phoebe said. “He did.”

There was a long pause while Helga tried to process Phoebe’s words. Arnold, light of Helga’s life, love since before she had even known the meaning, actually wanted her to be there?

“Are you sure?” Helga asked. “It’s just—“ I’ve wanted this for so long and there’s no way this can end well, Helga wanted to say, but couldn’t get out.

“I know,” Phoebe said.

“Hey,” Helga said eventually. “Do you have Arnold’s number?”

“Yes,” Phoebe said. “And I will send it to you in exchange for not calling me until at least tomorrow so that I can go back to being asleep until people stop hammering on my skull.”

“Deal,” Helga said fervently.

 

 

Helga stared at the new contact in her phone for almost thirty minutes before she hesitantly pressed the number. The call began ringing and Helga closed her eyes, unsure if she hoped for a voice or an answering machine.

One ring, two rings, three rings. “Hello?” Arnold’s voice said.

“Uh,” Helga said eloquently. “Hi. It’s me, Helga.”

“Oh, hi,” Arnold said.

There was a long pause. “Uh—the thing is,” Helga said.

“I’m glad you—” Arnold said at the same time.

“You go first,” Helga said.

“No, it’s ok, you can go first,” Arnold said.

There was another pause and Helga told herself to buck up. “I wanted to call about this morning,” Helga said. “I kind of freaked out.”

As soon as Helga said it, she felt stupid and ridiculous and wished she could take it back. It was funny, in a way, how little some things had changed since she was 9 and 29, and how vulnerable she felt with her feelings out there. Why didn’t they make armored tanks to protect feelings?

“I figured,” Arnold said, but he didn’t sound like he was judging her, just stating a fact. “But I’m really glad you called now.”

“Oh, good,” Helga said, a little stupidly. That had to mean he didn’t regret it, right? Maybe it didn’t. God, but if Helga didn’t ask, she would never know.

Helga took a deep breath. “Do you maybe want to grab dinner sometime?” she said before her courage left her. Her heart began beating so loudly in her ears that Helga felt certain for a second that she wouldn’t even be able to hear Arnold’s response.

The pause after her question seemed to go on forever.

“Yeah,” Arnold said, his voice coming in clearly. “I’d love that.”

“That’s great,” Helga said, her voice coming in distantly over the roaring in her ears.

“How about tonight?” Arnold asked. Helga wanted to laugh—even twenty years later, Arnold still didn’t beat around the bush.

“That’s perfect,” Helga said smiling, her chest easing, breaking open and feeling truly light. Keats, Naruda, Cummings, Bishop, none of them had anything on this moment. “You’re on.”


End file.
